


empty bottles, full of stories

by Anomalie



Series: Blade and Quill [3]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Drabble Collection, F/M, Gen, Multi, Other, Random & Short, Tumblr: FFXIVwrite2019
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-11
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2020-10-14 11:09:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20599787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anomalie/pseuds/Anomalie
Summary: Random, achronological snippets focusing on the Scions and my Warrior of Light, Zoeya Zana.(Fic title shamelessly stolen from a bestselling poetry book.)6 - Ache (FFXIVWrites 2020) is up!





	1. Prompt 10 - Foster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ch. 1 & 2 are pretty much the only prompts I did for FFXIV Writes 2019; I'll be posting FFXIV 2020 prompt fills soon, so I thought I better say something to clear up any confusion first. :)

** Prompt 10 – Foster **

“Urianger?”

He adjusts his reading glasses and looks up from the most recent giant Talos schematics.

“Yes, my dear?”

Ryne smiles at him and clasps her hands under her chin.

“Come to swimming lessons with us?”

He shakes out the drafting paper and arches a single eyebrow.

“I thank thee, child, for thine courteous invitation, but mine talents are currently needed elsewhere.” He pushes the bridge of his spectacles up his nose and resumes his calculations. Allisaie crosses her arms.

“What on earth could be so pressing that you cannot take _one day_ to obtain a basic life skill?”

“Naught less than the fate of our star.”

“Poppycock.”

“Proper aether flow, concentration, and elemental balance between the construct’s primary and peripheral hearts is of utmost importance for its optimal function. Wouldst thou prefer we changed places, Mistress Leveilleur?”

“False equivalency. Swimming is necessary for survival. I am quite sure Chai-Nuzz and the Stoneworks engineers can work out all that rot without you.”

“If thou holds such ardent conviction, why not approach your brother?”

“Red herring. Alphinaud is meeting us in Stilltide. Something about ‘eating his words’ once he was _politely_ reminded the Ondo do, in fact, hold diplomatic conferences underwater.”

“That is unfortunate.” He plucks a grape from the golden fruit bowl next to him and leans back into the plush red velvet of the Chai’s sitting-room chair. “I presume you will be instructing?”

“Thancred, Zoeya, and I, yes.”

“They’ll be tutoring us individually,” Ryne interjects. “Zoeya has volunteered to help you herself.”

“Even so, I must politely decline.” He carefully smoothes the delicate paper out atop his borrowed mahogany desk and side-eyes Alisaie. “It would not do for the Warrior of Darkness to suffer unintended injury at mine hands.”

“She. Can’t. Drown. Neither can I! And if you didn’t kick like a motherf– “ she bit back the colorful term, “ – like a rampaging Auroch when you panic, it wouldn’t be a problem in the first place!”

Ryne’s eyes go wide as saucers. A door opens down the hall.

“Ooookay, Alisaie. Take a break.” Zoeya pads towards them, wearing sunglasses like a headband and a white cotton caftan over her swimsuit. “I’m pretty sure yelling isn’t going to work here.”

“An astute observation.”

“What, you think you’re off the hook now?” Zoeya puts her hand on her hip and looks over his setup. “This isn’t about the work at all. You’re just too comfortable to move.”

“I shall neither confirm nor deny that conclusion.”

Alisaie throws up her hands. “Come along, Ryne. We’re done here.”

Ryne looks to Zoeya apprehensively as the older teenager storms out.

“Go on. I’ll meet you in Stilltide by the docks.” She reaches out and gives the girl a quick kiss to the forehead. “Take your daggers with you, stay close to Alisaie, and watch for hobgoblins.”

Ryne smiles and nods confidently in return. “I will.” Then she turns around scurries along to catch up.

“One might think you fostered the child yourself, with how freely you bestow such affections,” Urianger muses aloud.

“Come on now,” Zoeya teases as she stretches out on the chaise lounge beside him. “You’re just as in love with that little girl as I am.”

He smiles fondly. “She _is_ quite exceptional.”

Zoeya sighs and sinks further into the soft, supple leather sofa. “I see why it’s so hard for you to get up.” She turns her head just enough to make eye contact. “Are you sure there’s nothing I can do to foster some fondness for large bodies of water? Start small with a kiddie pool, maybe?”

He gives her a pointed look and plucks her a red grape from the bowl.

“Well, I tried,” she concedes with a half-smile, takes it, and pops it in her mouth.


	2. Prompt 11 - Snuff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt is in there! Twice! Just took a roundabout route to get there.

Zoeya shut and locked her inn room door behind her. Sighing, she sat down heavily on the side of her wrought-iron and wood bed, peeling off her muddied gathering clothes as she listened to gulls cry while ladies of the night hawked their services below. Late evening sunlight bathed the floor in a golden gridiron glow.

Her own room… her own space. Third door on the right, east-facing window, her box of games and stuffed animals sitting on the dining table right where she left it. Even as a child she’d never known such a thing, sharing a single room and most of her posessions with her three siblings since infancy. Sometimes she danced around in her smallclothes and sang at the top of her lungs, just because she could; tonight, Zoeya simply changed into a clean shift and lit a candle while she read Tataru’s latest loaned romance novel until the wick burnt low.

All hers, simply because of a single letter with the Admiral’s seal:

_ Lieutenant Zana,_

_In recognition of exemplary culinary services rendered during the diplomatic visitation of Nanamo Ul Namo, Sultana of Ul’dah, I hereby give leave to select a room of your choosing at the Drowning Wench in lieu of residence in the Maelstrom barracks. Residency fees will henceforth be paid from your basic housing allowance directly to Baderon Tenfingers. _

_Till sea swallows all. _

Zoeya had almost cried. The housing market in Eorzea was absurdly cutthroat – she’d been saving for ages simply for a small house or apartment, but the residence halls were always full and the prices of even the most modest cottages simply climbed higher and higher. She’d declined her spot in the Maelstrom barracks because she knew no inn would turn her away; yet all the while unfortunate souls begging for work slept under benches, curled up in secret stone alcoves, or laid out to rest in the patches of grass off pristine stone walkways.

Limsa Lominsa’s homeless were regularly taken advantage of by the less savory elements that emerged after dark. Having your life snuffed out by offending the wrong person was a real possibility on the seedy side of the pier. She shuddered, remembering her own brief week sleeping on the streets, using all her wits to avoid impressment by pirate crews or being snatched up by ambitious pimps. She met Chef Lynsgath when she literally ran into his chest while snatching a baguette for her supper.

She still doesn’t know what he saw in a disheveled Hannish runaway poorly committing petty theft, but he paid the irate baker, took her back to the Bismarck, and fed her a simple meal of bread and stew. He even made a pallet for her in his root cellar between crates of onions and strings of garlic bulbs. In the morning he threw a sponge and dishrag at her and told her to get to it.

One ordinary man’s compassion that day saved her life. She only hoped a small kindness like giving up her berth could do the same for someone else.

When her eyes began to drift shut and the words blurred on the page, she reached out and extinguished the dying flame between her thumb and forefinger. Then she crawled under the covers, cuddled up to her stuffed moogle, and fell asleep to the soft scraping sound of ships bobbing against the docks.


	3. Endearment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fruit of a Tumblr ask for "kiss on the ear (or horn)". 303 words, set between Ch. 5 and 6 of Risk Communication.

He never thought it could be like this.

By all accounts, Thancred should be on high alert until Urianger wakes in a bell to relieve his watch. They’re stranded in the middle of the Empty. It’s colder than Thal’s balls. Eden’s massive bulk slumbers barely two hundred yalms away. A girl tossed out of the gods-forsaken Void is now in their care. Maybe she’s a victim; maybe she’s an enemy agent. Maybe she’ll wake any moment now and try to kill them all in their sleep. Fat lot of good Urianger’s nursing would have done then.

Instead, he sits, his softest blanket wrapped around his shoulders, the woman he loves curled up in his arms and the stars sparkling overhead. The slow, warm puff of her breath against his neck has nearly put him to sleep twice now. It’s like a scene out of a damned two-gil novel… except for the bit where he lost all feeling in his left leg roughly a bell ago. He’s already tried to disentangle her and take her back to her tent, only to find her tail wrapped tight around his waist and her hands in a death grip on his jacket. He looks up at the moon and idly wonders if Menphina is laughing.

Zoeya stirs. He takes the opportunity to subtly shift her weight off his thigh. He hisses as circulation returns to his neglected limb; the pins and needles are excruciating.

“Mmmm?” she mumbles and makes to raise her head.

“Shhh, love,” he murmurs, pressing an absent-minded kiss to the flat of her horn. “Go back to sleep.”

She answers with a sleepy sigh and her nose pressed into his skin.

It takes approximately twenty seconds before Thancred realizes exactly what he’s just done.

Somehow he has no further difficulties staying awake until morning.


	4. Coffee

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thancred POV in the aftermath of Ch. 18 of Risk Communication. Short drabble, 603 words.

He never knew it could be like this.

She’s asleep. Out like a light – and so quickly, too. Her face is placid and so utterly relaxed in her repose; and it somehow doesn’t seem real, that he awoke just this morning feeling blessed beyond measure to simply have her frizzy curls tickling his nose.

He was all set to wait. She’d given him fair warning that she might never be ready when she’d finally laid it all out for him at the lake, and he’d braced himself for that exact eventuality for the foreseeable future. Constantly reminding himself to keep his wandering hands in check. To let her take things one halting step at a time. To put her heart first. To be patient.

Doubly so, once she’d broken down and confided what she’d been through to him; the horror she had never confessed to another living soul.

Then she’d arrived on his doorstep in the middle of the night, frantic with worry, and promptly decided to shatter all his carefully measured expectations in the space of twenty-four hours.

“But you’ve always done that, haven’t you?” he chuckles, elbow propped up on the mattress and head in his hand. “Defied all expectations.”

She simply breathes.

Thancred smiles a bit to himself. He gently pushes an errant curl away from her cheek where it wanders towards her nose; he tucks it behind the flat of her horn until it hooks around the base. He tenderly brushes the rest of her tousled waves behind her naked shoulder, her pale scales luminescent in the waxing moonlight.

It’d taken her forever to let go and slip into slumber the first time they’d properly shared a bed. He’d pretended to be asleep for what felt like eons, listening to the harsh, just-too-fast tempo of her breaths, feigning perfect stillness while she she shivered despite the layers of her tightly woven shell. She’d noticed at some point; he was all set to open his eyes, to reassure her, to urge her back to sleep…

But she had comforted him instead. Stroked his face. Murmured _sssh, it’s alright; I’m here._

Next thing he’d known it was just before sunrise, and he’d woken to her face turned into his pillow and two lax fingers hooked in the edge of his sleeve.

She loves him.

She has said the words. Shown him with her time, her actions. Her body.

How many have been in his bed over the years? Or he in theirs? How many times has he heard those three words strung together – in ecstasy, in desperation, in manipulative ploys to keep him from leaving? How many times did he abuse them himself, tossing them casually at marks or simply the lady he’d like to spend the night with, in those early days when the ink of his Archon tattoos was scarcely dry?

His throat grows tight. He leans down and presses another lingering kiss to the scaled vee on her forehead.

He believes her. And of all the precious gifts she has given him, this is the most incredible of them all.

Thancred tenderly gathers her into his arms. He pulls the covers up where they’ve fallen low over her breasts. He tucks her head against his chest and closes his eyes.

Then he whispers the words himself.

She may never hear the three of them strung together from him in daylight; but that’s alright. She’s figured out his game already.

“Coffee,” he mumbles quietly as he drifts off. “Cream and sugar in your coffee…”

*~*

In the morning, he wakes her with a mug in each hand.

She smiles.


	5. FFXIV Write 2020 - 2: Sway

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 5.3 spoilers ahoy!

There are five bodies lying in the dark. 

Zoeya prays.

She has never been overtly religious; far less so, after witnessing firsthand again, and again, and _ again _ the fates of innocents caught in a primal’s thrall. She thought her own faith in higher powers long burned out of her after she started felling gods for a living. 

“Please,” she murmurs under her breath, holding her palm against her bag on her hip to keep its precious contents from jostling, withdrawing the first blood-encrusted crystal. “Please let this work.”

Krile holds out her hand; and gods, she wishes they had put markings on the auracite mounts or had time to make cases or _ something _ , because casually handing her the first soul without being _ sure _ is utterly terrifying.

“Alphinaud?” Krile prompts briskly.

Zoeya nods. She nearly catches herself and confirms by voice instead; but Krile simply turns and places the crystal beside the boy’s lifeless body. Zoeya schools her face, inhales through her nose and pushes her shoulders back. No time for sentiment now.

She circles the silent room, handing the featureless crystals off one at a time, counting backwards from the order she placed the vessels in her pack as she goes. She presses her lips into a line and prays she remembered correctly; there is no room for error.

Four crystals lie next to four lifeless bodies. Zoeya kneels beside the final bed and places the last one herself. Then she clasps her hands, leans her elbows on the mattress, presses her eyes shut and bows her head.

Nothing happens.

“Please,” she whispers.

She hears a sympathetic sigh; hesitant, soft-soled footsteps, and a gentle hand on her shoulder. Tataru.

There is no more sound. No more movement. Only silence.

“Please,” she begs, her voice harsher now; and she doesn’t care that Krile and Tataru are watching, it doesn’t matter anymore - “please, I don’t care who or what is listening, just…” she swallows against the hot water gathering in the back of her eyes. “ _ Please _.”

_ “ _ Zoeya _ …” _

_ “Please. Bring them back to me _ , I - we’ve worked so hard. We’ve done everything that was asked of us. More than that. Given up so much already, lost so much… Please, gods, _ please _ \- don’t make me be without them again, I _ can’t _, not again -”

“Zoeya! ” Tataru’s elated voice trills in her horn, her little palm rapping an accelerating _ pat-pat-pat _ on her shoulder. “Zoeya! Look! Look look look!”

Zoeya opens her eyes. 

A soft, white glow suffuses the room. 

One by one, her friends begin to stir. The twins first; then Y’shtola, then Urianger…

But the crystal before her remains quiet.

Krile approaches; Zoeya can tell her growing sense of urgency just from the pattern of her steps. She stretches out a hand and casts a simple assessment spell over Thancred’s body. A normal scan should take a moment, perhaps two.

The spell is taking far, far too long.

[Light!] she barks in Thavnari, battle-hardened composure just barely overriding her visceral panic. A bright yellow ball of aether coalesces over the bed at her command. Tataru yelps and backs away from the bedside.

“Is aught amiss?” Urianger cautiously probes behind her. 

“Not working.” Zoeya replies curtly in Common. She throws her codex on the side table, turns his hand over and presses her fingers to his wrist. Watches his motionless ribcage. Prepares to count.

Nothing. 

Krile’s spell fades. “No evidence of independently resumed vital functions.”

“Doth the vessel not remain intact? If I may - “

“You may not,” Krile snaps as she bustles around to his cot. “Your muscles have significantly atrophied and I have yet to assess your aether. No one is getting out of bed! Do I make myself clear?”

Zoeya grabs the crystal in front of her and turns it over, feverishly examining each face. 

“Nothing,” Zoeya mumbles under her breath. “No cracks, no damage - there’s not a scratch on - unless… is it the wrong one?” she mutters with dawning horror, thrusting her hand into the bag on her hip. “Here - let me just - “

The last auracite flares brighter in her hand. 

“Oh thank _ fuck, _” she curses, throwing the dull vessel heedlessly into her bag and pressing the lit one to Thancred’s heart. She stands and leans over him, jabbing her first two fingers hard against his cold jugular. “Come on, come on, come on…”

And there it is:

A single heartbeat.

  
Then another.

His ribcage expands fully against the crystal’s surface. Four breaths later a steady pulse beats against her fingertips. Eight breaths and his skin warms to the touch. His hand twitches; his eyelids flutter; He grimaces on the exhale, and she pulls her fingers away from his neck. A collective sigh of relief choruses behind her. The auracite fades as he opens his eyes, just in time to focus on her face while her tears fall like rain onto his shirt. She scrubs at her face with her sleeve and smiles ear to ear.

“... hey,” he grinds out.

“Hey yourself,” she croaks back.

He blinks slowly. Looks around the room. Struggles to sit up. Zoeya moves to support his back and shoulders as he rises.

“We’re…” he slowly lifts his head to look her in the eye. “Home.”

“Yeah.” 

His heavy head falls again and knocks into hers.

“Hey!” she winces at getting unexpectedly bonked. But then he’s giving her sloppy, open-mouthed kisses and she moves one hand to brace his chin while he sways and slings an arm loosely around her waist. She kisses him back, and - 

“Wh - what - oh my _ word _!” Alphinaud splutters.

“Yes,” Y’shtola drawls, amused. Urianger chuckles under his breath while Tataru gasps in surprise and Alisaie snickers. “Though they normally have better sense than to be this demonstrative in public.”

“Since when?!”

“Since _ forever, _ you lunkhead,” Allisaie retorts. “I knew you were thick when it comes to romance, but this is a new low even for _ you _.”

“I beg your pardon - “

“We can hear you,” Thancred grumbles as Zoeya reluctantly pulls away, cheeks burning red. 

“Yes, and _ we _ can see _ you _,” Y’shtola reminds him pointedly. “Though I suppose under the circumstances…”

“...such an ardent display of thine affections may not be entirely unanticipated,” Urianger finishes for her.

Y’shtola shrugs, raises her hands palm up from the bed and gives Thancred a weak, but cheeky little smile. Zoeya busies herself arranginging pillows behind Thancred’s back and decidedly not looking at anyone else.

“Well,” Krile muses, hands on her hips and a twinkle of mischief in her eye. “It appears much has happened while you’ve been away.” 

“Do you need help?” Zoeya deflects, all business once again as she steps back from the bad. “I’ve got plenty of aether to supplement yours for direct infusions. “

“And I have a whole fresh archon loaf and carafe of hi-ether slurry that needs sharing,” Krile answers wryly. “Thank you for the offer, but given our charges can chew and swallow, I think I can manage from here.” 

Alphinaud makes a face. Alisaie groans. Tataru grins and puffs up with pride.

“Oh. Oh, you’re back,” Tataru marvels at them all with tears in her eyes. “You’re all back!”

Y’shtola pushes herself up to a sitting position with a grunt. “All teasing aside, Zoeya… thank you. My body feels like a sack of popotoes, but otherwise...I have never felt better. “

Zoeya sighs and half-smiles back. “It’s all good.”

That said...” her casual words belie the effort it takes to breathe. “I doubt any of us... will be fit to travel for some while. May we... leave the rest to you?”

Zoeya’s mind draws a complete blank. After a moment, Urianger similarly rises, leaning on one hand. 

“The vessel beareth our comrade’s blood,” he murmurs softly. “With it in thy possession, the way will surely open before thee.”

Her eyes widen; then she shakes her head slowly, smiling, and gathers up her things. “I’ll be back Tataru.”

“What?” she objects as Zoeya stows her codex in her bag, presses a brief peck to Thancred’s forehead and jogs out the door. “But you just got here!”

“Tataru, might I trouble you to brew us a pot of your special tea?” Alphinaud requests mildly. “Oh… and we may need an extra cup.”


	6. Ache (FFXIVWrite2020)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a hell of a month at work, so I'm doing the FFXIVWrites 2020 prompts all out of order and when I get the inspiration.  
This is #15, Ache - set towards the end of Shadowbringers/slowly (and then all at once), but from Zoeya's perspective. Pre-relationship.

_ Forgive me… _

_ Forgive me.. _

_ Forgive me.. _

Tesleen’s last words. They echo in her head, a quiet, mournful refrain; and she pushes harder off of the coarse, bioluminescent coral with one hand as the Scions descend further ahead of her into the damp caverns below. As if the action itself means anything.

She can't even look at herself. She's already tripped and skinned her knees up twice; knows from the drops of her own blood on damp basalt that glow brighter than any of the creatures here in the ocean's depths. She can't look up, knowing those broad shoulders and that white jacket will be there ahead of her, knowing he will be there, waiting, and never know... 

She can’t bring herself to finish that thought.

So. One handhold at a time it is.

"Oi."

Zoeya hums absently. Two furred boots appear in her periphery. She keeps walking.

"You gonna heal that?" 

She stops. Turns to stare at her spectral companion. Blinks.

"Your hands?" He raises his and waves them in front of her face. "These? The ones you keep ripping to shreds? Dripping blood across half the damn sea floor?"

"Huh.” She muses absently. “Just thought the coral was rough."

"Gods. You're a fucking wreck."

She nods idly. Mumbles a few words until Eos manifests beside her. The faerie takes one look at her palms and chitters with worry, bobbing and weaving as she casts.

“Couldn’t do that yourself?”

“Too bright. Can’t see it. Can’t feel it properly.” She holds up her hands; they glow so bright even in her peripheral vision that she squints. “All better?”

Ardbert stares at her for a moment. She doesn’t like the empathy she sees in his eyes, but the weight of the Light in her blood is making it difficult to care.

“Your man’s looking for you,” he mutters finally. “Don’t keep him waiting.”

“Got any new jokes?” she quips weakly against the sharp, fresh ache blooming in her chest as she turns back to the path. “Figure you’d have heard a few better ones by now.”

“What, with the way you two circle each other like two amaro in rut? Gives me all the material I need.”

Zoeya groans under her breath and puts one foot in front of the other. “First Mystel in heat, now amaro! Always the_ best _similes with you.”

“I’m just waiting for you to bellow your mating call. Get you a nice bed of hay and rub your tail on the wall, I’m sure he’ll come running - ”

“Did _ not _ need to know that bit of amaro husbandry, thank you, Ardbert,” she answers evenly as she turns the corner into a new cavern, coral and stone jutting out from the walls in a conveniently descending spiral. She won’t give him the satisfaction of watching him smirk this time. “You’re just jealous.”

“Him? Eh, not my type. You, though - I can see you arranging your tidy little nest now - “

Zoeya blinks slowly and makes a face at him. Ardbert grins wickedly as she steps down to the next ledge. He’s trying to distract her, she knows it. She’s not sure if she should be grateful, or - 

Her foot slips on the next landing. 

She looks up; makes a strangled sound; watches the individual stitches on the back of Thancred’s collar as he turns; distantly watches her own hand reach for his before she pitches to the left - 

And then his hand is gripping her forearm, the other hooking around her waist while her weight pitches sideways towards the chasm below. He skids a bit himself as he braces his boots against her momentum.

“Careful,” Thancred grunts against the flat of her horn after he hauls her back from the brink, pebbles hurtling over the edge as he - unconsciously, it must be unconsciously, he can’t be doing it on purpose - tucks her in close to his chest. “Wouldn’t want you to fall now, would we?”

“Too late,” she mumbles. 

“Pardon?” 

Ardbert’s slow, bitter laughter sounds in the background.

“Nothing,” she answers quietly without looking at his face, wincing at the sharp ricochet of said pebbles finally impacting the stone below. “Thanks for the save.”

“Anytime,” he murmurs, his warm breath puffing against her temple, and suddenly she’s back on that bright, high cliff with the wind on her skin and his hand in her hair -

Where he _ didn’t _ kiss her.

Where absolutely nothing happened.

She swallows against the growing tightness in her throat. 

“Are you alright?” His voice is a little quieter. Kinder. Rougher, as if there was something else he wished he could say instead but won’t. “Can you stand?”

“Mmmhmm.”

He nods, a motion she feels more than sees, and gives her forearm a gentle squeeze; and she wonders idly for half a moment if he understands anything at all.

“Everything alright?” Y’shtola’s voice echoes from the bottom of the cavern.

“We’re fine,” Thancred calls back over her head, slowly slipping his arms from her body as he turns away, leaving a bone-deep chill in their wake. “Just had a bit of a scare. Be down shortly.”

Zoeya stares at their feet. Watches his boots step out of sight. Hesitantly raises her head to watch him go, only to find a familiar specter’s crossed arms blocking her view instead.

“Not yours, eh?” Artbert states flatly, baleful blue eyes boring into her own.

She stares back. Eos settles into a sitting position on her shoulder. The faerie coos something in a tongue not even the Echo will translate and gently pats her cheek.

“No,” she whispers finally. “He doesn’t want to be.”

And before Ardbert gets the opportunity to respond, Zoeya walks through him instead.


End file.
